


Clumsy with our Coffee

by the_rainbow_jen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Self-Discovery, Slytherins Being Slytherins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-03
Updated: 2009-07-03
Packaged: 2019-10-04 06:31:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17299532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_rainbow_jen/pseuds/the_rainbow_jen
Summary: Five ways Pansy tried to land Harry, and one time she landed herself.





	Clumsy with our Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: The prompt was “Quirky Pansy plots to lure Boy Wonder, Harry Potter, into her bed and hopefully win his heart. The line "Step into my parlour, said the Spider to the Fly..." make it fun and silly and I'd like Pansy to have hilarious inner monologue.” Well, I tried.
> 
> Written for the 2009 pphpficexchange on Livejournal. Posting here for archival purposes. No content has been altered.

Never let it be said I don't go after what I want. 

Now, you might question my taste in matters of the heart. That's how mother likes to refer to it. Says it sounds more romantic. Whatever. My taste is not what most people would consider romantic. After all, I put up with Draco's need for adoration, contrived or otherwise, and generally got myself the reputation as being a slag for him. Really, it had nothing to do with Draco. Not much, anyway. He's cute, in a very pointy sort of way, but I can’t forget the bruises I’d get from hugging him, much less imagine shagging him. And he's been my friend since we were old enough to fight over toys, though he never quite got over my stealing his unicorn plushie. But mostly I stuck with him for so long was because it suited me to do so. After all, if his side won, then I'd be perfectly positioned to be the next Mrs. Malfoy, and would then afford all the bruise healing potions I wanted, much less the pretty frocks I could buy with his vaults.

Merlin, I sound mercenary. I suppose by some standards I am. I'm not one of those girls to go after a love match. Mumsy and Daddy weren't a love match, but they do alright. Daddy says its tradition, and if it worked for so many hundreds of years, why change now? Of course, he says that when Mumsy's not around to thump him with whatever Victorian romance she's reading. Really, it’s a good thing I got Daddy's brain. Mumsy's forever sighing loudly about how romantic this couple is, or how thrilling it was that some hero did something blah blah blah. Poor Daddy gets this pinched look on his face and next day Mumsy has a new frock, or something to shut her up.

Yes, I am my parents’ daughter. I fully intend to land the kind of husband who can afford to spoil me, and whom will do so on command. Why would I want to settle for anything else? 

So after the dust settled, the war was tidied away, and when it became clear that Draco would not do as a husband, I went on the prowl. Fortunately, I am very naturally brilliant, and Daddy's very naturally persuasive, so I landed a plum job as an assistant (the word secretary is so demeaning) in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office at the Ministry. Now, it wouldn't have been my first choice, except for two things. One, Daddy said it would look good if I showed myself interested in muggles and all their stupid inventions to make up for everyone hearing me point out Harry in the Great Hall (really, everyone was thinking it, I just had the temerity to actually say something), and two, it's where Harry Potter was starting his Ministry career. Both of those would suit my purposes. After all, what's the point of being someone’s assistant if it doesn't help you climb the ladder? Personally, the only ladder rung I wanted to be on was the one labeled 'Mrs. Harry Potter.' Pansy Potter had a nice ring to it, if I don't say so myself. It would be an ideal match. He’d have the money and power to keep me as I so desired, and I’d put up with his friends and Quidditch obsession. We’d be like Mumsy and Daddy!

Though I would often get some looks from Sally-Anne, who shares the common space with me. She works for Mr. Perkins, who really should retire and let Harry run the place. He's rather doddering, and she's always fixing things he mucks up. And when she's not cleaning up after the old fool, she's giving me looks out of the corner of her eye, like I can't tell she thinks I'm after Potter. Well, I am, but it’s none of her business. But really, just because I like to fix my makeup and hair when Harry comes in, it’s no reason to roll your eyes, bint.

I smiled sweetly at Harry as he comes in, hoping that our 'little chat' the other week about putting the past behind us had sunk in. I was tired of waiting to make my move. Rather, series of moves. First I'd spoil him a bit, some chocolates or coffee, then I'd make myself indispensable to him, maybe help solve some of the pesky cases he had on his desk. Then I'd 'accidentally’ take some work home, and when he came to get it, I'd greet him in my naughtiest nightie, and he'd be so overwhelmed with lust, that he'd take me, then and there. And being a gentleman, he'd realize it meant we needed to get married straightaway. Yes, I had it all figured out.

*****

Alright, so maybe my plan was a bit simplistic. 

I had left chocolates on Harry's desk, with a note saying, "For all your hard work." But I had signed it from the Office, figuring he might be wary of eating something from me specifically, or little talk nonwithstanding. It might make Sally-Anne or the other department personnel jealous if he so clearly favored me. Well, it seems that was a bit too subtle, because he brought the box out and began to pass it around, insisting that the hard work was shared amongst everyone, so everyone should get some. I just hope he didn't notice the confused looks on their faces. Honestly, having to share credit with the bunch of idiots was not how I meant to get his attention.

That was last week. Now, I'm ready to step it up a bit. I smoothed a hand over my hair and took the full mug of coffee into his office. I was wearing one of my nicest blouses, one that clung to my shape and had made Draco’s eyes glaze over the first time I wore it.

"Mr. Potter, you look a bit tired. I thought this might perk you up." I spoke in my brightest, sweetest tone. Of course, I hadn't counted on how he always kept the artifacts they'd yet to de-spell in his office, and really, there was no way I could have avoided that set of wiggling golf shoes, whatever they were supposed to be.

Harry yelped when the coffee splashed out of the mug down his front. And gave a grunt as I managed to twist and land on top of him. Really, a girl's got to use every opportunity, planned or otherwise, to get her bloke thinking of her. Even if it means smushing the two of us together by way of hot coffee. I apologized, fluttering my eyelashes at him.

Now, if there hadn't been scalding hot coffee in that mug, I'm sure things would have gone much smoother. As it was, Harry rolled me off him very quickly, plucking the shirt away from his skin, hissing. I offered to heal him, but he waved me out, face red as I imagined his chest would have been. Probably for the best, as my healing charms weren’t the ones everyone went to for help. That had been Millie’s forte.

At least my charms work was up to snuff. I got the coffee out of my own blouse and would have done his, except he'd already closed the door. Bugger. As I made my way back to the desk, Sally-Anne pointed out, "You know, you could just ask him out. I don't think dropping hints is the way to go with this one."

I scowled at her. "I'll thank you to mind your own business. I can manage this perfectly well on my own." I went back to fixing my hair and my lipstick.

***

It's been two weeks since I tried to give Harry a cup of coffee (and open the offer for anything else he might want), and so far, I'd not been able to accomplish anything except actual work. I didn't take the job for that! It was my stepping stone, a way for me to get Harry to fall head over heels for me. Unfortunately, the only one falling around here is me. Falling behind, that is. Sally-Anne has gotten increasingly snippy with me, but then, given how she has to do her job and Perkins’ job, I am not surprised. Really, the poor girl is never going to catch a husband if she keeps talking to everyone like that.

"Have you done the filing from last week yet?" she asked, her tone far too bossy for someone who by rights should not be bossing around a former classmate. She shouldn't be bossing anyone, much less me. I decided I'd be able to work on my plans if I left the area, and looking productive is never a waste of time where Harry is concerned, so I took the filing to our filing room down the hall. Really, it was a mess. The cabinets were full to overflowing, and I don't know how anyone found anything in there. All the files were organized by who had overseen the case. How was anyone going to find anything?

I pulled my wand, and using some of the spells from  _The Magical Stenographer's Guide to Office Work_ , I soon had files flying through the air. Coughing, I waited for the dust to settle before checking to see how the spell had worked. Perfect! Things were now organized by artifact. Much better.

"What have you done?" Mr. Perkins bellowed, his sagging face gone red when he saw what I’d done. 

His vision must be going, I thought it was obvious what I’d done. I didn't know what the problem was, and my explanation of a better system was waved off. 

"We had that system for one hundred years! You young people, thinking you know better. You stay here until you fix it back the way it was." 

The nerve of the man! I was trying to do everyone a favor, and he punishes me for it. Ungrateful git. I was quite mad all day long, well into the evening when I finally was able to go home. I was covered in dust, and not at my best, so of course it should be one of the evenings Harry had worked late.

Pulling my wand to set myself to rights, I discreetly popped open a few buttons, letting the delicate lace of my camisole peek out at him. Really, what man turns down a chance to stare down a woman's shirt? I smiled as seductively as I could as we shared a lift out to the Atrium. He looked distracted and tired, and I just knew that if he'd marry me, I could take his mind off all his worries in no time flat.

"Late night, Mr. Potter?" I inquired sweetly. He glanced at me, eyes widening, and then snapped his gaze back to the doors. Clearly he'd noticed my.... dishabille, and was being a gentleman about it. I could see the flush on the back of his neck, and I wanted to run my hands over it.

"A bit," he mumbled, bolting as soon as the door chimed and opened. Pursing my lips, I decided that reaction just wouldn't do. He'd have to be shown how perfect we were for each other. I followed more sedately, a bit of swing to my step. Well, he had noticed me, so it was only a matter of time before I got him to admit his feelings for me.

It took another week, but I found a way to get him alone again. He scheduled a meeting with a member of the Wizengamot who was going to help him present an addendum to the statue of secrecy as it regarded magical objects, and I just happened to hear the place and time. Being as crafty as I am, though I’m frequently underestimated, I sent him an owl setting the time for the meeting an hour earlier, at Susilo’s, a nice restaurant in Diagon. Surely if he saw how nicely we complimented each other in such an important setting, and how helpful I would be to his career, he'd come about sooner.

I dressed carefully that evening, wearing my best heels that made my legs look far longer than they were and a flattering dress that I'd found in a muggle store. I was sure that showing him how open I was to their ridiculous attempts at fashion that he'd see me as having come far from the girl I was at Hogwarts. The fact that the dress was more comfortable than my usual dress robes didn't bear mentioning.

Of course, I had to arrive early enough to stake my claim on a cozy table, intimate without being too obvious, and I waited, tapping the table with my freshly manicured nails.  _Witch Weekly_  had an article about how men love having their scalp and backs scraped ever so slightly by a woman's nails. I shivered just thinking about it. He wasn't much to look at but I was sure that under his drab work clothes there lay a fine specimen of a man. Quidditch did have its uses.

Imagine my surprise when Harry arrived with the old fart from the Wizengamot in tow. Bugger, that wasn’t supposed to happen! He was supposed to come in, be overwhelmed that I’d taken the time to set a romantic stage for him to let go and make his feelings known! I stood quickly, twisting my ankle in my sexy heels, and smiled brightly at them both, hiding my wince at the throbbing that had started thanks to these dratted shoes.

“Good evening! I just wanted to be sure they didn’t give your table to someone else, so I thought I’d wait for your arrival, before I meet my date.” I gave my excuses as fast as I could, not wanting to be caught out in the lie that I’d been the one who changed the time. 

Harry must have gone to collect the older gentleman and found me out. I could tell from the look on his face that he didn’t really believe me, but rather than bawling me out like Mr. Perkins had, he simply said, “Thank you Ms. Parkinson. That will be all.” 

Fortunately the gentleman from the Wizengamot was none the wiser, already looking at the wine I’d had poured in anticipation of some time alone with Harry. I wanted to salvage things, but the thing people often forget about Slytherins is our fantastic instinct for self preservation. I left, trying to walk on my throbbing ankle as gracefully as I could, head held high. 

I’d have to take a different tact, as he’d be on the lookout for any changes in his plans from now on. Harry Potter might be a lot of things, but unsuspicious is not one of them. He’s very professional, too much so, for me to just throw myself at him and expect him to respond. No, he needed coaxing to admit he was attracted to me, and once he did so, I’d be able to guide him to where we both wanted to be. I suppose it serves him well, to be paranoid and professional, but it would serve me much better if he’d just remain oblivious long enough for me to get my hooks into him, or long enough for me to show him how well we’d be matched.

I wasn’t some twit like Romilda Vane who tried to dose him with a love potion. I knew I was exactly what he needed; I just needed time to show him. He’s just trying to deny what I know will make us both happy.

I passed by a greenhouse on the way home and, struck with a burst of inspiration, stopped in. I’d need to apologize for the confusion I’d caused, and what better way than with a nice plant that would make him think of me every time he saw it? I settled on a lovely geranium and took it back to the office before going home for the day, satisfied that not all was lost in the evening’s efforts. Surely he saw what I was trying to do, and would want to have a conversation to ‘define the relationship’ as they called it in  _Witch Weekly_.

I was running a bit late the next morning, due in part to my ankle having swollen a bit after I went to bed, and as I hobbled to my desk, Sally-Anne eyed me, the look on her face indecipherable. She had a wide array of looks like that, meaning everything from she was unhappy with Mr. Perkins, to she was unhappy with the report on her desk, to her being unhappy with me. I was pretty sure this look was for me, though I was generally impervious to her glares.

“What?” I asked with a sigh, sitting down and massaging my ankle. I wasn’t in the best of moods, but I’d need to be all smiles for when I saw Harry, else he’d think I wasn’t interested in him. After all, if you act with confidence, people don’t question whether you’re wrong or not. They assume you’d behave in a cowed fashion if you’re in the wrong. I was never in the wrong, of course.

“Did you fail Herbology or something?” she hissed at me, eyes narrowing. I must have looked confused, because she elaborated. “That was a fanged geranium you gave him, you twit!”

Oh dear. I felt the blood drain from my face as she snorted. “Yeah. Brilliant of you, Parkinson. He’s at St. Mungo’s right now, getting his arms healed from when he tried to move it off the desk, not knowing any better that you had given him a carnivore. Appropriate.” 

Her sniff of disdain made me flush, and I busied myself at my desk, determined to be as efficient as possible to try and make up for it. Nothing was going the way it should have. Getting attacked by a plant wasn’t going to make him think fond thoughts of me. Even Millicent would figure that much out.

It wasn’t until later that day, when I was in the filing room taking care of some paperwork the old-fashioned way, that I heard Harry’s voice. Turning to go out and say something, anything, I stopped when I heard the scornful laugh of his mate, Ron Weasley. No matter how long I live I’ll never like that prat. How Harry can stand him, I don’t really know.

“Honestly, Harry, why haven’t you fired her yet? Everyone knows she’s just here to get her hooks in you.” I froze, feeling my stomach lurch. The redhead’s voice went on. “Look, I know you want to give all Slytherins a second chance, and it’s a noble effort, mate, it really is, but she’s going to maim you if you let this go on.” 

I heard Harry sigh from the hallway. “I know, but I guess I just feel sorry for her. I mean, she’s chasing me like I’m some kind of prize to be won. She hasn’t figured out that I’m not interested, and I guess I was thinking she’d be smart enough to take the hint.”

A snort from Weasley. “Not Parkinson. She’s the old fashioned type. Wants to marry someone important to make herself important. All alone, she’s just another stuck up pureblooded girl with the brains of gillyweed.”

I was frozen in place. I couldn’t leave the room, because they’d know I heard them, and I couldn’t stay, feeling beyond humiliated. How dare Ron Weasley compare me to gillyweed! And Harry! He was supposed to be sticking up for me! 

Harry responded. “Well, she’ll have to look for someone else. If I do marry anyone, you can believe it’d be someone with more sense than Pansy. She’s not much better than a leech.”

There was the sound of footsteps, and the two men moved off. Finally able to breathe, I sucked in a long harsh breath, feeling the burn in my chest. Leaving the files as they were, I peeked out into the hallway, seeing the men enter Harry’s office and shut the door. Moving as fast as my sore ankle would let me, I went to my desk, mumbling something to Sally-Anne about not feeling well, grabbed my purse, and left. No way was I going to cry, not in front of Sally-Anne, not in front of anyone.

Once I got home to our estate, I made my way to the tree house Daddy had had built for me when I was small, giving way to the demands that I have one, because Draco had one. Draco had gotten tired of his, but mine became a haven, a place to think and dream and plan and generally plot my life. Now, it was a place for me to go and cry as all my plans came tumbling down. It was late when I went inside, took a long bath, went through my usual pampering routine. It was automatic, because I was so lost in my thoughts from the day that I finished and was staring blankly at my reflection when Mumsy came to say goodnight.

“Pansy, have you been crying?” She clucked, coming over to look at my face. “You’ll have bags under your eyes if you don’t take care. Ellie!” Our house-elf popped into the room. “Get the blue bottle from my vanity, Ellie.” With a crack the elf was gone and back in seconds, handing Mumsy a bottle which she opened and used on the skin around my eyes. “I won’t ask what’s got you so upset, darling, but whatever it is, I’m sure it wasn’t worth crying and messing up your looks. Remember, appearances are key in showing people how important you are.”

It woke me up like a shock of cold water. I stared at her, aware for the first time that the things I’d believed, how I had grown up, were incredibly shallow and lacking any depth. No wonder Harry thought I was an idiot. Clearly I was, if this was all I wanted for my life. To be just like my mother, who was so put together at 10 o’clock at night that she looked as perfect as she had at 10 o’clock in the morning? It was all she did—present the appearance of perfection—and it made her and father happy. Did I really want that? Before, when it was going to be myself and Draco, I would have been content, but now, in the face of trying to weave my web around someone who I thought I deserved but who didn’t understand the first thing about me, I realized those plans and dreams needed changing.

I thanked her politely and went to bed, tired from crying; realizing that everything Harry had said about me was true. Not that I was stupid, or worthless, or even a leech, but that I was going about things the wrong way. Clearly getting a husband, though still a goal, couldn’t be the end goal. Not if I wanted to be something more than my mother, a trophy that pleased my father but did little else. Harry was still the only one worthy of me, but clearly he had some growing up to do. As did I, if I wanted to figure out what else life might have for me besides being like my mother. I’d done well enough at school, there was no reason I couldn’t have a career. Something to show those idiotic boys that I was more than just a well-wrapped package. 

The next morning came early, as I’d not slept well, but after a brief debate, I decided to go to work despite how little I wanted to see Harry. I might be seen as just a pretty package with nothing inside, but I had my pride, and I wouldn’t be crushed by anyone. The unspoken rule of Slytherin House had been ‘Never let them see you bleed,’ and I excelled in presenting myself perfectly, after all the years of emulating Mumsy.

I was at my desk when Harry arrived, and instead of greeting him with my usual bright smile, I was concentrating on the work I had in front of me, determined to prove him wrong. Somehow. He stopped at my desk, and I could feel him looking at me, but I didn’t dare glance up. I had brains aplenty and giving him my attention when I was more inclined to smack him than coo over him was a bad idea. I wouldn’t give him anything else to pity me for.

It wasn’t until later that he called me into his office. I figured this was coming, so following my usual behavior of fluffing my hair, I got up to take my reprimanding with my head held high.

“Pansy—” 

I interrupted him, wanting to cut this as short as I could and still maintain my pride. “I owe you an apology, Mr. Potter. I bought the plant in an attempt to make amends for the mix-up the other night, and I was not mindful of its danger. I hope there is no lasting damage.” 

He looked a bit surprised at my recital, but in the end just nodded, dismissing me to return to my work. I exhaled hard when I sat down, and I could tell Sally-Anne was looking at me. Not her usual angry glare, but studying me like a bug.

“What?” I said tiredly, wanting to snap and glare as I usually did, but I didn’t have any fight left in me, all my energy going towards keeping myself from appearing weak. I felt very thin-skinned, Weasley’s barbs still stinging. Glancing over, I didn’t see pity in her eyes; instead, understanding shone out. I bit my lip and looked back to my desk, to the forms I needed to type up and file. If nothing else, I would prove myself an excellent assistant while I figured the rest out.

“Want to go get lunch?” she asked suddenly, and I looked up, surprised. Why on earth would she ask me to lunch? Deciding I didn’t want to know, I shook my head, declining. I wasn’t very hungry anyway. She narrowed her eyes at me. “What is so important that you can’t go to lunch with me?” 

Trapped by the implied accusation in her words, I reluctantly agreed to lunch, and when we sat down in the commissary for sandwiches, she laid it all out. “Look, I know you’re probably just thinking up a different plan to win Harry, but you have to know, he’s not ever going to date you. Inter-office romances went out like twenty years ago.”

I held up my hand to forestall any more explanations from her about why I was wrong to be chasing Harry and such, and said, “I know, alright? I’m not doing that anymore. I just…” I sighed and looked down at my half-eaten sandwich. I didn’t know what I was doing anymore. Didn’t have any plans, just the voices of Ron and Harry in my head where my dreams had once been. 

Sally-Anne looked hard at me, then nodded. "Okay." She went back to eating her lunch and, relieved that the interrogation was over, I followed suit. I wasn't sure what she expected of me, but somehow her disdain was absent the rest of the day.

That weekend, I spent considerable time cleaning out the tree house. It was no longer quite the sanctuary it had once been, not since I’d cried my eyes out there at having some of my carefully-kept illusions shattered. The magazines, the pictures of Draco and other handsome wizards winking from the walls, they all were trashed. When I finished, the space only held the comfy pastel cushions, a mini vanity, and some books mother had lent me. Even after clearing out the obviously outlived elements, it still felt shallow. If all that my personality was could be expressed in pretty dresses, makeup and bad romance novels, I still wasn’t any better than my mother. It wasn’t a comforting thought. I didn’t want to emulate her. She had hardly batted an eye when I’d told her, hiccupping, that Vincent was dead, and that Millie’s dad was going to Azkaban, and no one could find Theo. She’d patted me on the head and told me to be sure I iced my eyes, so they didn’t get swollen or red. 

I climbed out of the tree house, looking up at it. Finally, I pulled my wand and began to Banish it, piece by piece. When there was nothing left but the empty space where it had been, I went back inside. It was time for some changes, and that was only the beginning. 

Mumsy was so taken aback by my announcement that I wanted to move out and find a place of my own that she gave all the appearance of swooning, as she often did when she was displeased and wanted to be pandered to. Realizing this was the behavior I’d long sought to emulate made me hold fast to my determination. I’d never figure out who I was apart from that example if I stayed with them until marriage. 

Daddy was very surprised, and I used that to my advantage, getting him to promise he’d furnish whatever place I found suitable. Just because I was going to make some changes didn’t mean I couldn’t do so in style and comfort. I left them there, Daddy patting Mumsy’s hand while Ellie waved a bottle of smelling salts under her nose, used to the routine.

It only took a week before I had a flat above Borgin and Burke’s. It was small, and the closet barely held one quarter of my wardrobe, but it was new space, just for me. I hung curtains, and put out velvet throws and pillows, and very determinedly taught myself to make simple meals, though I still sometimes Summoned Ellie when I couldn’t get the water to boil properly. 

Meanwhile, I spent more time on work than ever before. I had no illusions as to how productive I had been, but I tried to make up for it, managing to get reports turned around fast enough that Sally-Anne stopped glaring at me. I even stayed late a few nights to get the files in order, keeping the system as Mr. Perkins liked it, but reorganizing the sub-files so someone stood a chance of understanding the chaos that was the bloody organizational system dating back to Merlin. 

One morning, Sally-Anne gave me a stack of files, explaining that they were the best way to learn the history of the department. I still wasn't sure I wanted to stay working there, but I took them dutifully, figuring at the least it’d be something to distract myself from the self-pity I was indulging in. My pride could withstand anything, but so far my dreams of a perfect and idyllic future as Mrs. Harry Potter had shattered, and nothing was taking their place. 

That night, reading through the files, it occurred to me that Sally-Anne was trying to be friendly, more than just as co-workers. It was a bit bewildering, since as a Slytherin the gestures of friendship we made to each other were self-serving, contingent on what we wanted from the person we were befriending. And while it might help her to have me be a bit more responsible around the office, it would have been far easier to have me fired and train a replacement that was more qualified and more passionate about the work we were doing. My dream was certainly not to remain in Misuse of Muggle Artifacts.

As I read, I learned about how in the very beginning of the Ministry the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office was formed not to protect muggles, but to protect witches and wizards from their inventions. What we could do with magic was far superior to their methods, but sometimes they came up with something brutally effective. Guns, for example. They were deadly, and faster than any spell you could cast in a duel. There was an entire section that explained how firearms came to be treated as a special class of artifact, one that required collaboration with those in the Unspeakable and Auror offices. It was fascinating reading, and I stayed awake far into the night despite thinking how backwards and barbaric muggles could be. 

The next morning, I yawned as I got a cup of coffee, needing the boost. I saw Harry enter the little break room, and I stayed as far away from him as I could, remembering the last time I’d been around him with coffee. He wasn’t paying me much mind, concentrating on the files in front of him. I recognized them as I’d just typed the report on top the day before. 

From across the room, I spoke up, unable to stop myself. “Mr. Potter.” 

He glanced at me, blinking as he focused on me, and a wary look came over his face. 

Feeling myself flush slightly knowing his wariness was deserved, I cleared my throat, and gestured to the papers in front of him. “I believe Sally-Anne has some files at her desk that might be relevant to your case.” I didn’t wait for his answer and left, figuring that keeping our interactions to a minimum was the best way to respond since he thought so little of me. So far it had worked, as he generally was already in his office when I arrived and merely dropped papers into a tray for me to deal with. 

That night, I got to the part of the department history that showed when things had started to change. During what the muggles call the Industrial Revolution about a hundred years ago. They’d caught up in certain areas, and several names of note, particularly one of the Black family, had been mentioned as responsible for enchanting some machines the muggles had invented, and causing a processing plant to collapse, whatever that was. It made me a bit sick, because regardless of loyalties or blood, I just couldn’t stand death. Not on that sort of scale. It’s why I had called Harry out. I didn’t want to see any more people die. Figured if he wanted to take the fall, I’d help him do so. Not that anyone would listen to me afterwards, thinking I was just a stupid pureblood elitist. What did I care for politics? I simply wanted to be taken care of in the manner I’d been accustomed to my whole life. But that was then, this was now. Now, I wouldn’t have said anything.

Thinking far too much about the history I’d been reading and how it had eventually overflowed from stupid pranks into the two wars of the last thirty years, I wasn’t paying attention the next morning as I got my coffee. Turning around, I ran into Harry, and my coffee spilled down my front. Biting my lip to keep from crying out as it burned, I turned away so he wouldn’t see the tears gathering in my eyes.

“Miss Parkinson! I’m sorry, here…” He sounded panicked, and I waved a hand at him, plucking the fabric away from my skin as I cast a spell to siphon off the hot liquid and restore my blouse to its clean and dry, but rumpled state. Taking a deep breath, and ignoring the sting of my flesh under the cloth, I turned and gave Harry a polite smile. “Apology accepted. Excuse me, I must be getting back to my desk.” I left my coffee cup and took my papers, slightly splattered, back to my desk. I’d have to redo them before filing any reports.

After a half an hour, my chest still hurt, so I took my break, hurrying to the women’s restroom. Unbuttoning my blouse, I winced at the red mark the hot liquid had left. It was on the verge of blistering, as I have always had sensitive skin. Which was why it had been good that Draco couldn’t grow facial hair, as it would have left me looking like I rubbed up against a porcupine. I wet a towel, freezing it with my wand, and held it over the spot, moving to a stall to avoid being seeing so disheveled. 

As I sat on the toilet, aware of the irony that Harry had done much the same as me, and that he’d likely blistered as well, I heard footsteps outside my stall. Then a small container slid under the door. Picking it up, I saw it was a paste for burns. 

Opening the door, I saw Sally-Anne leaning against the counter, arms folded across her chest, eyebrow raised. Sighing, I handed her the container and submitted while she applied the paste, cooling and stopping the blistered instantly. 

She said offhandedly, “Harry left this on your desk when you went on break. Guess he must have just missed giving it to you.” 

I snorted. More like he didn’t want to get my hopes up by doing the gentlemanly thing and giving it to me himself. As much as his bad opinion of me hurt, I knew he wasn’t malicious. He was too big-hearted, the ruddy Gryffindor.

Not meeting her amused gaze, I thanked her for her help, buttoning my blouse and setting myself to rights in the mirror. No reason to look unprofessional. I returned to work and generally carried on as though nothing had happened, because it hadn’t. Not really. 

The next day there was a card on my desk that simply read “Sorry.” Shaking my head, I tossed it in a drawer, ignoring the look Sally-Anne was giving me.

The department history was fascinating reading, but it seemed incomplete, given how there were few records of when International Magical Cooperation and the Auror Division collaborated in major incidents. More for my own curiosity, I decided to take an evening to explore the records, making requests of files that fit the time frame. If I was going to know the background, I would know the full story. I’d had enough of half-truths and incomplete information from my classes at Hogwarts. No wonder Granger read so much. I was raised a proper witch and I still found myself not knowing the full story sometimes. Before, I wouldn’t have cared. But now… Hearing my intelligence so derided by that idiot Weasley had got my back up, and even if I never showed it, I would know, for my own sake, that it wasn’t true.

I took the relevant files home with me, and over the course of the weekend, I copied the reports most relevant to department history, spending much of my day lost in the past. I was startled when I heard a knock at the door. No one ever came to visit that way. Everyone I knew could reach me via Floo, though there were precious few who would try. Mumsy refused to Floo, saying it was undignified to have to clean up upon arrival, and Daddy had stopped by yesterday, making sure everything was alright. 

I’d been lazy, and had stayed in my sleep pants and shirt all day, hair back in a braid, secretly delighting in this small rebellion against the way Mumsy had raised me to be well presented at all times. Curious, but not enough to change, I peeked into the hall. What the….

I saw thick glasses, ungroomed hair, and green eyes blinking at the door while the rest of him shuffled hesitantly. Pulling on an expression of extreme indifference, I opened the door a crack. “Yes?”

“Miss Parkinson.” His manner of address told me this wasn’t social, so I opened the door further. “Sorry to disturb you at home, but, ah, I’m told you have some files?”

Nodding, I waited for him to get to the point. He rubbed his neck, which was red again, I noted, and continued, “Miss Perks said you’ve been going through department history? Why?” 

Stiffening, I let loose a patented Parkinson glare. “I’m not sure how that’s any of your business, but yes, I do have some files.” Closing the door in his face, I turned to go back to where I had been working. Gathering things quickly, I took the armload back and opened the door, startling him as he’d been about to knock again. Dumping the bunch into his arms, I said, “There.” I made to close the door, but he caught it with his foot.

“Sorry, that wasn’t what I meant. Erm, I was wondering, if…” I was used to him being speechless around me, as before I’d either been wowing him with my charm (or idiocy, a Weasleyeque voice in my head taunted), so I waited, arms crossed over my chest. He finally got to the point. “I just needed the part referring to the attack on the Daimler Motor Company.” 

Sighing, I took the files back from him and turned, leaving him in the doorway as I went to my tiny dining table. Setting the mass down, I sorted through until I found the relevant information. I moved to get my wand and make him a copy, when I saw he’d stepped beyond the doorway and was watching me. I bristled inwardly at the presumption of him entering without permission, but simply cast the appropriate spell and handed him the copied papers. Then waited impatiently while he looked around.

“Anything else, Mr. Potter?” I said pointedly, and he looked back at me, his neck red again as he fumbled with the papers and shook his head. 

“No, that’s it. Thank you Pansy.” He turned and left abruptly, and I moved to close the door behind him, bemused at his unexpected use of my first name. 

The next week went by with nothing out of the ordinary, and I returned the files I’d taken home, quietly pleased with myself when Sally-Anne’s eyes widened as she took in the additional listings I’d added. It wasn’t something I was passionate about, the facts I’d gathered, just that the facts be present in their entirety. 

That evening I got an owl at home from the Personnel office at the Ministry, requesting I come in first thing in the morning. Scowling, I pondered the implications as I took my nightly soak. After all this time, now that I’d done probably my best work, I was getting sacked. Figures. I stewed in my own indignation for a while, then decided that if I was sacked, good riddance. There were far better ways to use my skills than simply type and file reports for a bunch of idiots.

The next morning, I arrived at the Ministry, dressed impeccably and not a hair out of place. Mumsy would have been proud. Making my way to Personnel, I was ushered in fairly quickly and didn’t have long to wait.

“A transfer?” I said in disbelief. 

The man with a full white beard who’d dropped that particular bombshell on me explained, “It’s come to our attention that you’ve become far more qualified in the months since you’ve been hired, and there is a need in the Archival Support Staff for a person of your skills.”

Blinking, I took it all in. 

He continued, “There will be a pay increase, of course, and you’ll be responsible for answering to all departmental needs, along with the rest of the team.” 

He handed me a piece of paper describing my new job duties, the pay, and all I could think was, finally. Something I’d earned. It startled me, enough to finally respond, thanking the man graciously and leaving his office on unsteady legs, a bit dazed. When I got to my desk, there was a box of chocolates and a note that said, “For all your hard work.” I looked up and saw Sally-Anne smirking at me. I couldn’t stop myself from smiling, even as I said, teasingly this time, “What are you looking at?”

She came over and helped herself to a chocolate, grinning. “The newest recruit to Archiving. Guess this means I have to train someone else to not fawn all over Harry.”

I flushed a bit, surprised at her bluntness, and she continued, “Actually, it was his idea. Said you were wasted here when it was clear your niche was elsewhere.” 

The thought that Harry didn’t think me an idiot warmed me, even as I sat down to take care of the contents of my desk. I’d be starting Monday morning, and as it was Friday, I’d have no time off to transition. I got everything as caught up as I could, then carried the shrunk down box of effects home with me. 

Mumsy and Daddy were quite shocked, of course. Mumsy wailed that being around all those pesky old papers was going to dry up my skin and hair and made me promise to moisturize twice daily and be sure to use that special conditioner we had the apothecary brew. Daddy simply said, “Well done, pumpkin,” before giving me a big hug. I tried not to let on how excited I was, but as I got ready for bed that night, I knew I had to do something first.

_Dear Harry,_

_I feel I owe you some debt of gratitude for making the recommendation for me. I hope whomever they replace me with is a good match for you._

_Sincerely, Pansy_

It was several weeks into my new work when Lisa at the front desk called for me. Sneezing, I waved away the dust that had clouded up in my face as I walked through the stacks of books. It was a lot like one of the rooms in the Department of Mysteries had been, only instead of prophecies, we had file cabinets that stretched a good twenty feet up. When I got to the front, where the requests for information were made, my eyes were drawn to a vase of pink roses. Smirking at me, Lisa gestured to the card for me.

_It’s not quite a fanged geranium, but I hope it’ll do. Susilo’s, 6pm_

I laughed; I couldn’t help myself. I looked over to the doorway, where I saw robes disappearing. Smiling, I tucked the card in my pocket and left the flowers for Lisa to enjoy while I finished my work for the day. I had no idea why, after all this time, he’d decided to do an about-face, but figured I’d find out. At least I might get a decent dinner out of it. Either way, I’d decided, pretty much from the first day in Archives, that I didn’t regret what I’d done, trying to get Harry’s attention. It had all worked out in the end, even if I hated being able to attribute my wakeup call to the Boy Wonder. He got entirely too much credit as it was.

After running home to drop off the bouquet and to change from a pair of trousers, which I’d started favoring in my new line of work (they endured the dust and climbing about much better than my skirts had) into a less provocative muggle dress than the first time I’d gone to the restaurant. I’d tried to arrive early, in keeping with what had happened, but he still beat me there.

He stood when I arrived, saying, “I didn’t think you’d show.” 

I gave him one of my withering looks, though tempered it with a quirk of my lips. “Sorry, the doddering old lady I was supposed to bring with me cancelled.” He chuckled a bit at that and held the chair while I sat down. I debated beating around the bush, but when dealing with a Gryffindor, sometimes one must behave as a Gryffindor.

“Care to explain to me what exactly I showed up for?” I drummed my fingers on the table. He fidgeted, taking a drink from his water glass, before beginning to speak.

“It took me a bit to figure it out.” At my blank look, he elaborated. “Why you all of the sudden changed. I should have known you’d be in the file room that day.” 

I felt my face drain of color. Of all things, I hadn’t expected that. Suddenly infuriated, I got up from my chair, intent on leaving immediately. He jumped up and stood in front of me.

“So this was… what? Pity? An apology?” I said snidely, trying to push him out of the way. He restrained me, his slight frame belying his strength. 

“No. Please, just sit down and hear me out.” I didn’t want to, but when I met his eyes, he seemed in earnest. I sighed and returned to my seat, and Harry continued. “It took me a bit to realize you’d overheard. And once I did, I was surprised you hadn’t said anything. So I watched, and it seemed like you, ah, well, you were trying to prove me wrong.” 

I just looked at him, not about to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right. He rubbed his neck again. “I have a confession to make. I, ah, made you spill the coffee on purpose.”

“What!” I nearly screeched, then leaned forward and hissed, “Of all the idiotic, juvenile—”

“Hey, you did it first,” he shot back, eyes intent on my face. “And I wanted to be sure that you weren’t just regrouping. I figured if you didn’t try and use the opportunity to, ah, try for me again, then you were on the level.”

I snorted, leaning back in my chair. “Brilliant work, Potter. Nearly scarred me in the process.” Then I remembered he’d left the burn paste for me, and had to admit grudgingly, “But I didn’t, so thank you.”

He smiled then, and it was different from all the other smiles I’d seen, in school or at the office. This wasn’t his polite smile, or the one he gave to be nice. It was amused, warm, and I felt far warmer than my dress could account for.

“Anyway, when I came to your flat looking for the report, I saw you differently. Not just because you were in casual clothes.” I felt my face flush as I remembered my pajamas. “But because you were invested in something. And I have to admit, there were times I sort of liked feeling like you were chasing me.” His cheeks went pink at the admission, and I choked on my water.

Spluttering, I looked at him. “You what?” He looked down, clearly embarrassed, but soldiered on. “I didn’t say it that day in front of Ron, but when people want something from me, they just sort of act like I owe it to them, since they made me famous. Not that I ever wanted to be famous. You were different. You were at least trying to earn you way into my, ah, good graces.” 

I hadn’t considered it quite like that before, but I supposed it was true enough. “So now what? You miss being chased about? Your new assistant not up to snuff?” 

He ignored my sarcastic tone and reached over to touch my hand. “A little bit, but I mostly just wanted the chance to see if I can see what you saw in, ah, the notion of us.” He was still blushing, but he’d managed to say it. And I was rendered speechless for the first time in my life.

Unnerved by my silence, he let go of my hand and sat back, fidgeting, waiting until I finally replied, “Honestly, Harry, that is quite possibly the strangest way I’ve ever heard of being propositioned.”

He blinked at me. “So? How about it?” Clearly the Gryffindor stubbornness hadn’t been worn down in his time at the Ministry.

I looked down at my hands, still feeling where he’d touched the one, and said, “I’m not that person anymore, and the reasons I was after you no longer exist.” I looked up to see the look on his face fall. I bit my lip, then offered, “But maybe there are some reasons the new me could come up with.” 

He nodded solemnly. “Like how we both care about the truth.”

I nodded back. “And how we both have pasts to live down. Some of us bigger than others.” I dared to tease.

He smiled. “And how if we want something, we’ll scheme and connive and push until we get it.”

I grinned. “And how we’re both terribly clumsy with our coffee.”

He took my hand again. This time I didn’t mind in the slightest. 


End file.
